


The Curious Case of Danny Fenton

by Lynse



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Humor, Humour, Identity Reveal, POV Outsider, Reveal, Slice of Life, Wes-centric, creepy!Danny Fenton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynse/pseuds/Lynse
Summary: Wes Weston knows perfectly well that there is somethingoffabout Danny Fenton. His brother Kyle doesn't seem to see it, but his brother also doesn't believe in ghosts.
Comments: 116
Kudos: 340





	1. Wes-t of Weird

**Author's Note:**

> My first real crack at writing the phandom's favourite OCs, so heavily influenced by all of that, with some of my own headcanons thrown in. Plenty of the creepy!Danny AU ideas that will show up come from creamcloud0 on tumblr in [this ask](https://ladylynse.tumblr.com/post/629734231336222720/what-are-your-thoughts-on-scarycreepy-danny-to). Chapter title courtesy of AnimationAdventures. Standard disclaimers apply.

On the surface, the dark-haired kid Wes spotted farther down the hallway in Casper High wasn’t anything special.

Of course, on the surface, there wasn’t anything special about Amity Park, either.

Most of the move had taken place over the weekend, but Wes had definitely been in town long enough to learn to trust his gut—especially when it came to the, ah, _unadvertised_ invaders.

More than one unpleasant encounter in the last few days meant Wes didn’t take anything at face value anymore, and if something about one of his classmates set his skin crawling, he wasn’t about to ignore the feeling.

“What is _up_ with that kid?” Wes whispered, loudly enough to be heard by the girl beside him but hopefully not by the kid in question. The general buzz of conversation, interspersed by the rattling and slamming of locker doors and supported by the steady shuffling of feet, meant the question wouldn’t carry and be overheard. The lunch rush was more hallway crush than anything else right now; even as some students stepped out to drop off their books in their lockers before heading to the cafeteria, others were standing around visiting in little groups, including the boy Wes had spotted. He nodded slightly in the appropriate direction, hoping it was subtle enough not to be noticed by the other boy who was half-turned towards him even though it should be visible enough to the people nearest him.

The girl who was caught in the flow of students on his right frowned and pointed at him with her nail file. “Why are you talking to me?” she asked.

Wes blinked, not sure how he was supposed to answer that without making things worse.

The blonde girl behind the speaker added, “Just avoid Fenton if you don’t want to be a loser like him.”

“If it’s not too late for that,” the first girl added, slipping a lock of glossy dark hair behind her ear as she gave him a once over. He must not have passed whatever test that was, as the two of them laughed and walked off. He’d say they shoved their way ahead, but the worst of the crush was beginning to dissipate even in that brief span of time, and the crowd parted before them as best it could. Popular kids, then. He’d have to remember that and not get on their bad side more than he just had. There were few faster ways of finding yourself at the bottom of the social food chain than rubbing the popular kids the wrong way.

Besides, he didn’t need to press for more details right now; he recognized the name they’d given him. That was Fenton, the kid with the crazy ghost hunting parents? Wes had only been in town for a few days, but he already knew to avoid the giant monstrosity of a vehicle the Fenton family owned. Ghosts might be real, but he valued his life too much to play chicken when it came to that thing.

“Got a crush already, bro? You’re staring.”

Wes started and glanced behind him. Kyle’s smirk meant he knew exactly how irritating and downright infuriating he was, but of course, that was the reason behind the taunt. Wes rolled his eyes and looked back at Fenton, who was still talking to his friends. Kyle drew up alongside Wes, and years of practice meant Wes knew exactly where his brother would be standing without even looking. Still, Kyle didn’t bother dodging the elbow jab and instead rammed his own into Wes’s arm in return. He still thought moving to a supposedly haunted town was a laugh, and it was hardly the first time Wes had tried to slug him this week.

Kyle hadn’t been practically attacked by ghosts on their first day in town, only to hear some cryptic comment like _wrong kid_ before the ghosts were gone.

Heck, Kyle hadn’t even _seen_ the attack. No one in the family had. Worse still, Kyle kept insisting that Wes was joking. As if he’d joke about nearly being kidnapped by a trio of glowing green vultures.

“Just shut up and tell me if you think there’s anything weird about that kid,” Wes hissed, not taking his eyes off Fenton.

Kyle snorted. “Can’t tell you anything if you want me to shut up.”

The comment was enough to make Wes contemplate fratricide, even in a town where it was clear that would come back to haunt him, but Kyle just moved on without waiting for Wes’s retort—and without answering the question.

Maybe it was the thinning crowd. Maybe it had been their conversation. Wes didn’t think so—there were enough other conversations going on that his shouldn’t have been anything special—but whatever the reason, Fenton glanced his way.

He shouldn’t have felt Wes’s eyes on him. The more reasonable explanation was that he was looking for someone else. Still, Wes hurriedly looked away, trying to suppress a shudder as he opened his locker and stared inside. He wasn’t anyone to Fenton; Fenton’s eyes should slide right over him.

The feeling of being watched didn’t go away. Wes couldn’t bring himself to look, but he just _knew_ Fenton was still looking at him, and it felt like he’d somehow painted a target on his back.

Wes shivered. He tried to tell himself that he was imagining things, but he knew a lie when he heard it. A scrawny kid shouldn’t make his brain scream _danger_ , but….

Maybe it was the way Fenton held himself. Maybe it was the look in his eye. Wes wasn’t sure, exactly, but he didn’t think it was just the Fenton name itself. The kid didn’t look at all intimidating on the surface, but the hairs on the back of Wes’s neck thought otherwise. There was just something about him. Something _wrong_ , somehow. He gave Wes the creeps.

Kyle would tell him he was overthinking things, that that was always his problem and he was doing it again. That there was a logical reason for everything, and that reason in this case was Wes being paranoid. Maybe he was, but maybe he wasn’t, and maybe it was finally his turn to prove Kyle wrong.

Wes might not be able to put his finger on what was off with Danny Fenton right now, but he was going to find out.


	2. The Wisdom of the Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of quasar-crew on tumblr.

In less than two weeks, Wes had realized two very important things about Danny Fenton.

One: Star’s assertion that Fenton was a loser was reinforced daily by the school bully, and Dash never saw any reason to pull his punches. If Fenton decided to mouth off, he paid for it. If he decided to grin and bear it, Dash took it upon himself to wipe the smirk off Fenton’s face. It wasn’t pretty, but no one ever moved to intervene.

Wes knew he should, on a moral level if nothing else, but knowing he should and committing social suicide were two different things. He might’ve stuck his neck out if it had been any kid besides Fenton taking the regular beatings and not just the occasional ones, but he couldn’t bring himself to seriously contemplate taking action when it was on Fenton’s behalf. Besides, Fenton seemed to _encourage_ Dash to focus on him, and Wes had enough athletic ability to stay off of Dash’s radar if he kept his head down. (Thankfully, getting on to the basketball team—albeit as a replacement for a kid who had broken their leg on some freak ghost ice a few days before Wes had moved to town—meant he’d never be seen as competition to everyone’s favourite up-and-coming football star.) As for Kyle, well, he was an expert at avoiding fights, and no one ever saw him as a threat, Dash included.

Two: Dash’s star quarterback status wasn’t the only reason the teachers turned a blind eye to the treatment. Oh, it was a contributing factor, no question about that. Wes didn’t know much about school finances, but funding was a big deal, especially when said school was routinely getting attacked by ghosts and was left on the hook for all that damage. It wasn’t that none of the teachers ever heard whispers of a fight or the very real sounds of it, either, even if that’s what they pretended. When it came down to it, Dash’s favourite target didn’t choose to fight back or otherwise kick up a fuss, and he didn’t show the damage he was taking, so it was easy to brush the whole matter aside.

Wes had seen Fenton picked up by his shirt and shoved into his locker more often than Mickey was into his, but the math nerd showed the treatment of it, even if he never made any complaints, official or otherwise. Mickey had bruises. Scratches. He still smiled, still had a cheerfully subservient attitude in the hopes that it would prevent further treatment, but he’d walk with a limp or eat only soup for a few days or stumble into class just before the bell with red marks crisscrossing his skin.

Fenton did not.

He’d be punched. Tripped. Kicked. All manner of ‘accidentally knocked into’ and ‘accidentally knocked down’. And it _never showed_. Despite what Kyle had said when Wes had tried pointing this out, it wasn’t just that he didn’t bruise easily—or at all, as far as Wes could tell. Fenton wasn’t favouring any limbs. He didn’t complain (at least in Wes’s hearing) of being sore. He didn’t _act_ as if he were hurt. Ever.

Kyle said he was thinking too much. What did it matter if Fenton didn’t bruise easily? If he was resilient? Some people just were. The kid was lucky, that’s all. He deserved some luck if Dash insisted on whaling on him all the time. What should Wes care if that luck came out as Fenton not being very hurt at the end of it? That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

Wes pushed back. He laid out all his gathered evidence—including that not bruising didn’t necessarily mean that Fenton shouldn’t be hurt, since they’d both seen the dent left in Fenton’s locker door when Fenton had decided to dodge a punch last week. That certainly didn’t come from a lack of force, and Dash had wound up shoving Fenton inside an even smaller space than usual. Human bodies shouldn’t be able to contort to that degree.

That was too close to simple speculation, though, so Wes stuck as close as he could to the facts. He’d been watching Fenton every day, trying to figure out what was up with him. He didn’t quite have a conclusion yet, admittedly, but he had _something_. He might not know what exactly was off, but he had proof enough that Fenton wasn’t normal.

Kyle snorted, much as he had every other time Wes had brought this up. This time, though, he went farther, undoing Wes’s careful arguments with a characteristically simple statement. “Dude, no one in school thinks the Fentons are normal.”

“What?”

“C’mon. Their parents hunt _ghosts_. Ghosts aren’t even real.”

“They _are_!”

“Okay, I know you’ve bought into the mass delusion—”

“ _It’s not a mass delusion_.”

Kyle shrugged. “Conspiracy, then.”

“It’s _not_ —”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I have _proof_.”

“Uh-huh. What?”

Wes crossed his arms and glared. This wasn’t the kind of proof that was easy to show. It’s not like he could take a picture of an injury that wasn’t there, and Kyle would assume that any photograph he produced of a ghost had been doctored, especially when he didn’t believe in ghosts who were right in front of him, doing very obviously ghostly things. Still, Wes had seen enough to know what he was talking about, both when it came to Fenton and to the ghosts that were all over this town. That should be enough for Kyle.

It wasn’t.

“Just because you fell for this, doesn’t mean you need to drag me into it. Besides, if you were actually on to something with Fenton, don’t you think someone else would’ve noticed by now?”

Wes wasn’t able to argue that, either, so Kyle was naturally convinced that he’d won. Which, well, he kinda had. Wes _hadn’t_ heard anyone else comment on it. Not about Fenton’s freakiness, anyway. No one ever did. Even though it was _right in front of them_.

Faced with this reality and knowing he’d need something bigger to have a hope of convincing Kyle, let alone anyone else, Wes decided to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open.

That was why, months later, Wes saw something he was pretty sure no one else did.

Fenton was banned from handling glassware in chemistry, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help Manson move some drama props for a prank or a protest or _whatever_ he was up to. Wes was coming out of the washroom after basketball practice when he saw Fenton drop a glass orb that had as much chance of being a crystal ball as some kind of lampshade, especially in this town. It had been somewhat precariously balanced atop a box of other miscellaneous props, and when it had started to roll, gravity had invited it to meet the floor.

It broke, as glass was wont to do when dropped onto hard surfaces.

“Crud,” Fenton muttered as he knelt to clean it up. Judging by the sound the box made when Fenton dropped it to the floor, it wasn’t light, even though he hadn’t been struggling with it at all. Wes stepped back to hover in the alcove by the washroom, peeking out just enough to watch Fenton pick up the big pieces of glass and— “ _Crud_ ,” Fenton hissed again, and Wes could see the blood welling up on Fenton’s palm from ten feet away. He’d somehow managed to stab himself, and the tissue he produced from his pocket and pressed into his hand to stem the bleeding wasn’t doing much.

By the time he’d finished cleaning up, the tissue was soaked through.

When Fenton was done, all the glass shards balanced on his injured hand, he picked up the giant box with entirely too much ease for something done one-handed, even for someone who was supposedly used to hauling loads of weapons like that for family vacations. It didn’t seem to faze him. Not so much as a grunt or a stagger. No concession to the box’s apparent weight at all, not unless you count the fact that Fenton kept it balanced it on his hip as he walked, but Wes didn’t. On the upside, the box was large enough that Fenton couldn’t see Wes as he walked past him towards the chem lab at the end of the hall. He didn’t even glance in Wes’s direction.

The downside was that the box made it even harder to see what Fenton was doing.

Now, Wes couldn’t quite see the door of the chem lab, but he knew it was supposed to be locked by now.

Despite that, Fenton didn’t even slow down. It looked like he just walked right in. Which _shouldn’t be possible_. Even if the lab wasn’t locked, it was quiet in the hall right now, and Wes hadn’t heard the door open. Or heard Fenton put down anything he’d been carrying so he _could_ open the door, which was rather important when the handle was a knob and not a lever.

When Fenton reappeared, carrying the box in the same hand as before, he turned just enough that Wes could see him holding his cell phone in what should be his injured hand, freed not just of glass but of the blood-soaked tissue. “Yeah, I gotta fly,” he said as he headed for the stairs at the end of the hall. “See you in a minute.” He pushed open that door and was gone almost before it swung shut again. Maybe before. Wes wasn’t entirely sure.

Wes waited until he was confident Fenton wouldn’t come back, and then he walked over to try the door to the chemistry lab.

It was locked.

Peering through the narrow window in the door, Wes couldn’t tell if anything had been moved within the darkened room, sharps discard container included. It looked like Fenton had never been inside, but he’d certainly gone somewhere, and there wasn’t anywhere else he could have gone.

The next day, Wes made a point of looking for some sign of what had happened. Unfortunately, a new custodian must have been hired to replace the one who had quit a few days ago, as the garbage was empty when Wes got to the chemistry lab first thing in the morning. To top it off, the sharps discard container was enough of a jumble of jagged glass that it told him nothing useful.

Fenton did. Not in words, true, but he didn’t have so much as a band-aid on, and there was no sign of a telltale scab. In Wes’s opinion, that was damning evidence.

“I’m telling you,” he said to Kyle as they walked to the Nasty Burger after school, “he cut his hand badly enough to need stitches, and he’s fine today. That’s not normal.”

“So he heals fast.”

“That is not just healing fast. There isn’t even a mark.”

“Apparently makeup can do wonders.”

“Why the heck would he use makeup for something like that?”

“I dunno, you’d have to ask him.”

“I’m not going to _ask_ him! Are you crazy?”

“Says the crazy one who won’t admit that he’s obsessed.”

Wes pressed his lips together. Kyle still didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t know _how_ Kyle couldn’t believe in them, because they were _right there_ , almost every single day, but he didn’t. He’d come up with some logical, if far-fetched, explanation every time. It drove Wes nuts.

That was why Wes had been holding off on confiding in him about his pet theory. That, and the fact that no one else had ever said anything about it. But if Kyle was all about _reasonable explanations_ , which was a laugh considering he never seemed to put that much thought into anything else, then surely he’d see this as reasonable.

The Fenton family hunted ghosts. They were also ghost researchers. Paranormal investigators. Wes had heard practically every term imaginable thrown around, and it all boiled down to one thing: if it was a ghost kind of weird, it wasn’t impossible. Not in Amity Park. Not with them around.

Besides, there was all the stuff Wes had seen, and everything he very conspicuously hadn’t seen, and just that _vibe_ that Fenton gave off. He might pretend to be a goofy kid, a bit of a klutz, someone who laughed with his friends and was always getting detention because he fell asleep in class or didn’t finish his homework, but there was so much more to it than that.

Wes had enough classes with Fenton to have noticed how he sometimes went from drooling all over his math textbook to sitting up straight with his hand stretched in the air, asking to go to the bathroom. He’d followed a few times, never often enough to be suspicious, by asking to be excused for the same reason or to get some water, and every single washroom on that floor was invariably empty, at least of Fenton.

Wes had sat close to him twice, once in English when Foley was sick and once in math when Manson was sick. He was pretty sure he’d seen Fenton reach through his desk to grab his dropped pencil in English, and he _knew_ he’d seen Fenton shiver even though hot sun was pouring through the windows. Wes had written it off as the air conditioning at first, since it had been relatively cool at the time; his arm nearest Fenton had even had goosebumps, despite the other one feeling like it was scorching in the sun. It wasn’t until the next time he’d sat near Fenton and it had happened again that he’d realized it wasn’t just a one-off thing but a being-around-Fenton thing.

Not that that had stopped Kyle from blaming the air conditioning when Wes had pointed this out. Or from offering up the completely unhelpful, “That cold’s going around. Maybe you’re getting sick.” He’d even hinted that Wes might be delirious—from some _phantom illness_ or from lack of sleep, which had been hard to argue when he’d been up half the night in both cases.

Wes felt more prepared to make this argument, though. He’d been thinking about it for a long time. He’d gotten more than one raised eyebrow from Fenton when the kid had randomly turned around to catch Wes staring, but he was pretty sure mind reading wasn’t something Fenton could do. Probably. Which meant that Fenton didn’t know exactly how much Wes knew, and Kyle was good to keep a secret when it was important.

It didn’t need to be a secret if Kyle took this well, of course, but Wes needed someone to test the waters with. And, frankly, he just needed to get this off his chest. To tell someone. Out loud. In a real conversation instead of a rehearsed one in his head.

“Okay, look, I know how this is going to sound, but hear me out.”

Obligingly, Kyle stopped and looked at him.

Wes glanced around, but no one was near enough to overhear their conversation, and the wind should sufficiently scramble the words anyway. He edged over to stand by a lamppost so anyone who did walk by would be able to get past. Kyle followed, clearly amused if the smirk on his face was anything to go by, and leaned against the lamppost to wait. Careful to keep his voice low, Wes said, “I think Danny Fenton is actually Danny Phantom.”

Kyle burst out laughing.

That response wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it definitely wasn’t the one Wes had hoped for. He scowled. “I’m serious! They sound exactly the same. They _look_ the same. And they’re never in the same place at once! Everyone seems to be fooled by the green eyes and the white hair and the costume change, but Phantom is Fenton. He _has_ to be. Even their names are practically identical!”

Kyle kept laughing, even though he’d since slipped from the lamppost and banged his funny bone in the process of trying to stay on his feet. Now, he was just hugging the pole, trying to stay upright and drawing entirely too much attention to them.

“Stop it! I’m not making this up.”

Kyle started shaking his head and finally choked out, “ _This_ is what you’ve been trying to wrap your head around?”

Wes crossed his arms and glowered at his brother, who had slid so that he was bent double trying to catch his breath. “Fenton is Phantom. You can’t deny that.”

“Dude,” Kyle finally managed as he straightened up again to look Wes in the eye, “I don’t need to.”

“What?”

“Fenton is Phantom. Yeah. I don’t know why you think that’s such a big deal?”

“Wh—? Because Phantom is a _ghost_. That’s a big deal! Being a ghost means he’s _dead_.”

Another round of laughter escaped Kyle, even though he should know by now that this was serious. “Hate to burst your bubble, but there’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s a costume change, like you said.”

Wes had anticipated needing to further back up his argument that Fenton and Phantom were the same person, not that ghosts were real. He’d assumed acceptance of ghosts would come with the acceptance of Fenton being Phantom. He had no idea how Kyle could believe that a human could do everything they’d seen Phantom do. “Phantom _flies_. And…and he shoots energy blasts. And turns invisible. And goes though things. That’s not a simple _costume change_.”

“Yeah, the special effects rock.”

Wes stared at his brother. “You…you can’t call all of that special effects. You’ve seen how much Phantom can lift, right?”

“It’s called a prop. Do you need me to draw a diagram? Teach you how these things work? Come to the Nasty Burger, oh young one—”

“Don’t pull that. You are _not_ that much older than me!”

“—and I will teach you the ways that are such a mystery to you.”

Wes rolled his eyes. He’d need to gather more evidence to convince Kyle that ghosts were real, but maybe he hadn’t been the only one to notice the similarities between Fenton and Phantom. Maybe Kyle was on to something. If Kyle didn’t have any trouble seeing the resemblance—if he just thought it had taken _Wes_ forever—then maybe everyone else was aware of it, too, but no one had had the guts to say it yet.

Well.

He could fix that.


	3. Proving the Truth is a Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of ladynadra on tumblr.

Wes didn’t make any big announcement. He just started mentioning it offhand to see how people reacted, slipping it into casual conversation as best he could. He tried to treat it as a simple statement of fact, tossing it in and then moving on as if it were nothing. He wanted to see who else had recognized Danny Fenton as Danny Phantom. He wanted to know how many people agreed with him.

Turns out, no one did.

He endured the sidelong glances in silence. He pretended not to hear the snickers. He couldn’t pretend he was ignorant that he’d crossed a line earlier today when he’d said something in Star’s hearing. Maybe it was just that they usually swam in different social circles and he hadn’t stuck to his, but all of a sudden, it was incredibly apparent that he’d made a mistake.

He hadn’t just misjudged the fact that the entire school—maybe the entire town—was in denial instead of keeping a secret for their own safety; he’d misread the situation in thinking that people might actually want to know the truth.

Paulina cornered him by his locker after last period. This morning, he’d naïvely thought it would be at least a week before he attracted attention of this calibre. Now, well…. He just wished she didn’t look so terrifying when she was glaring at him from an intentionally close standpoint. “Um…hi?”

“Why’re you telling everyone that Fenton is the ghost boy?” Paulina was wasting no time—or breath—in getting to the point, which likely wasn’t the best for him.

Wes swallowed. Prepared as he thought he’d been for this, he was still caught off guard; that nail file was pointed right at his Adam’s apple, and the tip did _not_ look blunt. “Because he is.”

Paulina barked out a laugh, but she didn’t step back to give him more space, not even when he winced and tried to cringe away from her. Naturally, his own locker was in the way; she’d chosen her spot well. “Yeah, right. The ghost boy isn’t a loser.”

“No one as cool as Phantom could be a loser,” Star agreed. She hadn’t moved from her position slightly behind and to Paulina’s right, which was unfortunate for him, as it meant she was still blocking his best potential exit. There was no way he’d get past Dash or Kwan or, well, any of the other students that were starting to gather to watch this go down. The fact that the boys seemed to be letting the girls take the lead on this was not comforting, as that undoubtedly meant they had fully embraced their role as the muscle, ready to jump in if he made it necessary.

He did not want to make it necessary.

He did not need to experience what Fenton went through firsthand to know how bad it could—should—be.

“You really don’t know how to spread a rumour,” Paulina said, withdrawing her nail file from its unnervingly close proximity to his throat and starting to use it on her left hand as if she were becoming bored of their conversation.

“It’s not a rumour!”

She rolled her eyes. “They need to be more believable. Look at what Kyle said about your love life. Much better. Still needs work—too easy to peg and much too easy to trace back to the source—but—”

“My _love_ —? What the heck did he say?” He was going to kill his brother, so help him—

Star hummed. “I dunno, the staring, the stalking, I can kinda see it.”

Kyle was dead.

“That’s not love crazy,” Paulina said dismissively. Wes would’ve contemplated kissing her for effectively squashing that rumour if it didn’t mean he’d be dead in three seconds thanks to Dash, who was glowering as if he knew what Wes was thinking. “That’s just crazy crazy.”

Or maybe he’d just settle for not arguing with her and making a bigger scene, since as far as everyone else would be concerned, doing that would just prove Paulina’s point.

“Besides—and I know this is a hard concept for you, so I’ll break it down like they do in your remedial science classes, yeah? Make it nice and easy for you to understand.”

Wes frowned. He wasn’t in remedial science. Sure, it wasn’t his best subject, but he was hardly failing. Besides, he wasn’t aware that they offered anything outside of the normal classes here. With the lack of funding this place had—

“Phantom isn’t alive, you know?” continued Paulina before he could gather his thoughts enough to protest the whole ‘remedial science’ thing. That really was a laugh, considering science was exactly what they were ignoring. “He’s a ghost. That’s what a phantom is. I know you moved to Amity Park, but just because a ghost can touch things, it doesn’t mean they’re human.”

Wait.

“I don’t think he’s human!” Wes interrupted. “That’s my point. He’s _not human_.” Fenton wasn’t human, and he was fooling entirely too many people into thinking he was. If Paulina wanted to talk science—

“Yeah, we know. He’s a ghost. If he weren’t, it’d be more likely that _you_ were Phantom than Fenton is, so you can stop telling your horrendous lies before the ghost boy hears about them.”

Wes gaped at her. “What?”

“I don’t want him to think we think he’s a loser,” Paulina explained, as if that had been the objectionable part of what she’d said. “He might not come around as often if he does, and I like it when he comes to save us.”

Wes decided not to mention that Paulina was effectively wishing for a ghost to attack nearby if she wanted to see Phantom in action. He also decided that pointing out she had practically every class with Fenton wouldn’t improve matters. If he mentioned either of those points, they’d get entirely too far away from the very important, very worrisome point she’d already made. “No, what do you mean about me and Phantom?”

“You’ve got green eyes,” Paulina said. “If anyone looks like Phantom, you do.”

“Yeah!” Star piped up as Paulina blew on her nails. “You could be trying to tell everyone he’s Fenton to distract from the fact that you’re him. Wouldn’t that be the best way to cast all suspicion from yourself, picking someone else to blame?”

The girls dissolved into laughter, cueing the eruption of snickering all around him. Before Wes could muster a proper argument—the ghost boy called himself _Danny Phantom_ , for Pete’s sake; how obvious could you _be_?—they walked away, still giggling and flanked by their smirking jock boyfriends. The fact that they weren’t serious wasn’t much comfort, as he had the horrible feeling that this was going to come back to haunt him somehow.

The crowd dispersed—everyone except for Manson and Foley, that is. He hadn’t seen them at first, but as the other students flowed away with surprising speed and they didn’t move, it became painfully clear that they’d been standing on the outer rim of the circle that had formed. Manson had her arms crossed and was glaring at him; Foley was chewing his lip and doing something on his PDA. Wes blinked, not sure where Fenton was, and looked over his shoulder. Empty hallway. He turned back and almost jumped when he saw Fenton standing with his friends.

He wished he could convince himself that he’d somehow missed Fenton’s approach, but he knew what the truth must be. Fenton straight up hadn’t been visible for it. He couldn’t have been. The hallway had emptied out fast, and there weren’t exactly any prime hiding spots. Besides, Wes hadn’t heard Fenton coming, and he should’ve been able to with everyone else gone.

Wes braced himself for a confrontation. Despite his athletic ability, it wasn’t a confrontation where he’d come out on top. Not if it came down to a fight and Fenton didn’t hold back, anyway. Wes had seen Phantom in a fight. Cracked concrete and craters were the norm. Given what Was had seen Fenton lift when he didn’t realize other people were around to see him, he was much stronger than he had any right to be. He was certainly much stronger than he looked. It would not bode well for Wes if Fenton took offense.

The kid in question grinned at him. It was a sharp one, all teeth, and for a split second, it looked entirely _too_ sharp. And long. Human teeth were not that long. That was _not natural_. How could no one else see that? How could everyone else look at Fenton and think, _yes, that’s a normal human being right there, just like everyone else on this planet_? There was very much something to see here! He wasn’t hiding it! Not well, anyway.

“You really think I’m Phantom?” Fenton asked, as if it hadn’t torn through the school rumour mill at lunch and landed Wes in this mess now. “What gave you that idea?”

Wes let out a slow breath. If he tried to deny it, Fenton’s friends would call him on it—assuming Fenton himself hadn’t been hanging around unseen, listening to every word. It was safer to tell the truth, even if he didn’t know what Fenton would do about it. “Danny Fenton. Danny Phantom.”

Manson and Foley exchanged glances behind Fenton’s back.

“So?”

Wes blinked. “What do you mean, _so_?”

“So, what’s that got to do with anything? Phantom’s a ghost.” That was pretty much exactly what Paulina had said. It didn’t necessarily mean Fenton had overheard everything, but— “Danny’s not that uncommon of a name. It’s a lot more common than Wes. Two people can have the same name, you know.”

Well, okay, fine, that was true, but that wasn’t the point. Wes knew he wasn’t mistaken. And Fenton sure didn’t look confused that Wes would make this connection. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even look particularly angry about it. He looked downright amused. He knew it was true, and he was enjoying watching Wes squirm.

It made Wes feel like he was the specimen about to be dissected in biology class, pinned by the intense gaze of those bright green eyes.

Wait.

_Green_?

Wes had backed into the locker behind him before he even noticed that he was moving away from Fenton, and the shuddering reverberation from the impact echoed his own nerves.

Danny Fenton’s eyes were the same bright blue they’d always been.

“You okay?” Manson asked, sounding skeptical. “You don’t look so good.” Her eyes darted briefly to Foley and she lowered her voice before adding, “Maybe you should go to the nurse’s office.”

Wes felt his heart thundering in his chest, racing as if he’d just come off the basketball court. “I….”

Fenton’s eyes had been green. He’d had Phantom’s eyes, just for a moment.

Wes _wasn’t crazy_ , whatever anyone else might think.

It hadn’t been a trick of the light. The hallway was lit by the same fluorescent lights as always, and frankly, light just didn’t do that. Those eyes had been glowing. _Glowing_. This wasn’t some subtle shift that Wes might have imagined.

He licked his lips and tried to sound braver than he felt when he looked at Fenton and said, “I don’t ever see you going to the nurse’s office.”

Sure, it wasn’t like Wes staked out the office or anything, but he’d spent enough time keeping an eye on Fenton to see things that should have constituted such a visit. Last week in gym class, Wes had been the only one close enough to Fenton to hear the sickening _crack_ when he’d slipped and fallen on his arm. It had bent the wrong way. Wes had seen the pain cross Fenton’s face as he’d pushed himself back to his feet and then pulled his arm straight again. There hadn’t even been tears in his eyes, let alone full-out crying or screaming or anything else that would be a normal reaction.

He hadn’t talked to the teacher. He hadn’t asked to go to the nurse. He hadn’t asked to go to the bathroom or let himself get hit by a ball so he could sit on the bench for what would, at the pace Dash was going, be the rest of the dodgeball game. He hadn’t even tried to call Dash out for the series of deliberate headshots he’d been taken, despite those being against the rules. No, Fenton had never said anything about it, and Tetslaff hadn’t noticed, just like none of the other kids had noticed, Dash included. Somehow.

However, Wes had seen Fenton favouring that arm. For the rest of the day. The next day, it had been business as usual for him.

Well.

Fenton had favoured his arm for the rest of gym class, anyway. For all Wes knew, it had been fine by the end of the next period. He didn’t have that one with Fenton, so he couldn’t be sure, and he hadn’t seen a similar injury, but—

Foley whimpered.

“We try not to go there unless we absolutely have to,” Fenton said, and Manson just glared at Wes. “Tuck’s getting better, but, y’know, baby steps.”

“And that place doesn’t have _anything_ to do with you making wild accusations about Danny,” Manson bit out.

“Yeah, wild,” Fenton said, still grinning widely. Did…did his teeth look normal now? Wes really hadn’t imagined things earlier, had he? “What do you think I am, a dead man walking?”

Wes’s tongue was thick in his mouth. His heart was still playing a quick tattoo, and breathing in slowly through his mouth wasn’t helping to calm his nerves. “You’re Phantom,” he repeated before he lost his nerve. “I know you are.”

“So you think I’m dead? Even though I’m standing right here, talking to you?”

Wes couldn’t hear the threat in Fenton’s voice. It sounded like Fenton thought this was incredibly funny. It looked like he was three seconds away from laughing in Wes’s face. Still, Wes felt cold, inexplicable terror freezing his insides and trapping his breath in his lungs.

Fenton shrugged. “Okay. Don’t be surprised if I haunt you, then. See you around, Wes.”

Wes didn’t move as Fenton and his friends turned and walked off.

When Kyle found him five minutes or an eternity later, he was still staring in the direction they’d gone.

“Yo, you still with me, bro? I was gonna introduce you to Nost. He’s chill.”

“Fenton’s dead,” Wes croaked. “He’s dead, and he knows it.”

“Everyone knows it,” Kyle said, despite all the evidence Wes had just gotten to the contrary. “People just think it’s safer if they don’t talk about it.”

“You really think so?” Wes had not gotten the impression that anyone else saw how much of a threat Fenton could be, Kyle most definitely included. While he’d figured that was a likely possibility, none of what he’d seen today had indicated that. Paulina’s words…. She’d seemed too genuine. Maybe the rest of the school was just following her lead, but….

“Well, yeah.”

“What happened to ghosts not being real?”

“Dude, that doesn’t have to do with anything.”

“How does it not—? He’s _dead_!”

“I know, but being Dash’s favourite target doesn’t have anything to do with ghosts.”

Wes stared at his brother, finally realizing they’d been talking about two very different definitions of being dead, and then groaned. “You’re an idiot.”

“Says the guy who completely swallowed the whole ghost conspiracy.”

“ _It’s not a conspiracy_!”

“You’re right,” Kyle agreed, and for the briefest of moments, Wes thought his brother had finally seen sense and had been pretending otherwise just to annoy him. Naturally, Kyle continued, “It’s a tourist trap, and everyone’s in on it except you. Seriously, bro, if you could just appreciate how much work this town puts into the ghost thing—”

“That’s not what it is!” Wes didn’t know why he was trying to have this argument again. He never seemed to win it.

“That’s exactly what is. Danny’s just at the heart of it ‘cause his parents are, like, spearheading this entire thing. I thought you’d figured that out. You know Tucker’s the one who started those ghost tours, right? You’ve at least seen that connection?”

How do you convince someone of something when they write off all the evidence in front of them and somehow turn it into justification for their (very wrong) argument?

Whatever. He’d wait until Kyle saw something himself. Something he couldn’t deny. Something that couldn’t chalked up to coincidence or technology. If Kyle didn’t get the same creepy vibe off Fenton that Wes did now, he would once he saw Fenton do something like walk though a locked classroom door or shake off some horrible injury like it was nothing. Fenton couldn’t keep pretending forever, and he’d give himself away sooner or later.

“When’d you sign up for remedial science classes, anyway?”

“What?”

“Remedial science. I didn’t even know they had that here. Y’know I’d tutor you, right?”

“I’m not in remedial science!”

“It’s not something you need to be embarrassed of, bro. It’s just like how you’re better at English and history and stuff than I am. We can help each other out like we always do.”

“I have higher marks in biology than you do!”

“So it’s chem, then? Or physics? Physics, right, for the math bits? I know math’s not—”

“I’m not in remedial science!”

Kyle shifted his shoulders in something that was more acknowledgement than shrug. “Whatever you say, man. Just know that I’m here for you. Not really convinced this school has the funding for any good remedial classes anyway, so my offer’s open if you change your mind.”

Great.

Paulina had slipped in one rumour to prove a point, and now everyone assumed he was terrible at science because he couldn’t tell the difference between ghosts and humans. That was not going to his case. If they assumed he was awful at science, none of them were going to listen to him when he tried to show them all the reasons Fenton wasn’t normal.

At least it was less ridiculous than the idea that he himself was Phantom. Both were easy to disprove—easier than proving the inhumanity of Fenton, apparently. And Fenton _probably_ wouldn’t turn up at his house and try to murder him in his sleep. Maybe.

Wes decided to sleep with the light on for a while, just in case. And a baseball bat under his bed, for lack of anything better. Maybe some salt, too, in case there was any truth to that. If he had to ward his entire house against ghosts to keep Fenton at bay in case he decided to try anything, well, better safe than sorry, right? And maybe it would keep the other ghosts away from him. He’d nearly been grabbed by an ectopus the other day before the Red Huntress had turned up, and Wes would really rather not have to explain that he was late for supper because a ghost had jumped him.

Kyle had yet to witness such an attack, and his teasing was merciless, even though Wes had the sucker marks to prove it—or maybe because of that.

Still. In the end, Kyle was just one person, and there was an entire town of people in danger if they didn’t accept the truth about Fenton.

After all, what if Fenton wasn’t the only one? If people had never noticed him, maybe they’d missed someone else, someone Wes wasn’t close to. Who knew how many people like Fenton could be hiding, in this town and beyond?

Wes needed to get people to accept the truth. He needed them to open their eyes. He couldn’t let this go, no matter the cost.


	4. The Ghosting Evidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of ladynadra on tumblr.

As it turned out, Danny Fenton didn’t need to pretend he wasn’t Danny Phantom.

Because Phantom was a ghost, everyone assumed Wes was making baseless accusations. It didn’t matter to them how similar Fenton and Phantom looked. It didn’t matter that they’d never seen Fenton and Phantom in the same place—except for one time, apparently. Valerie had growled at him to drop that line and practically shoved pictures of the two of them together in his face. Wes still wasn’t sure how Fenton had pulled that off, because Phantom and Fenton were both very clearly present, but he knew shapeshifting ghosts existed, and Phantom had friends.

But still. The people in this community were blind. Wes had zero trouble believing that Fenton’s ghost hunting parents were at least partially responsible for Phantom, but no one else thought that was enough justification for the whole _but Phantom is a ghost_ hurdle, not even after some ecto-contaminated food got loose in the cafeteria ( _twice_ ) and proved that post-death corporeal animation could be a thing.

While Fenton didn’t exactly make good on his threat to haunt Wes, he made no effort to hide the truth anymore. Wes always saw a flash of fangs when Danny’s smirk inevitably grew into a grin as he noticed Wes watching him, even if other people were around. Maybe the people in this school—this entire town—were just oblivious, but that should be obvious. At the very least, it should be distinctly unsettling. Those weren’t human teeth.

Sometimes, when Fenton’s smile stretched just a touch too wide, Wes only saw the predator he could be. He might not be a cannibal—ew, not worth thinking about—but he was more hunter than defender, whatever he pretended.

Of course, Wes couldn’t even convince Kyle of that.

“You honestly don’t think you’re just seeing what you want to see?” Kyle asked him as they were walking home from school one day. “This has been going on for years, dude. You should let it go.”

“I’m not imagining things!” It was not the first time Wes had insisted as much, and chances were extremely good that it wouldn’t be the last. Still, this wasn’t the worst time to be rehashing an old argument. Kyle wasn’t convinced Wes was serious about it, and Wes knew Kyle meant well even if he was completely wrong, and they would both be busy enough this evening that they’d have to drop it even if they would’ve preferred to keep fighting about it. There was no basketball practice today, and chances were good Wes would’ve had to skip it if there were. Today, they were expected to play host to the CEO of the company their dad worked, meaning they had to come home immediately to help get everything ready. Much as Wes wanted to move away from Amity Park, he didn’t want to be the reason their dad got fired.

“Maybe this is a therapist thing. I mean, you’re afraid of the dark now, and you never used to be.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Wes snapped. “I’m afraid of him!”

“Of the kid who can barely run for thirty seconds straight, let alone climb a rope or, y’know, scale the two storeys to your bedroom window to break into the house?”

Wes rolled his eyes. “I told you, he doesn’t need to climb anything. He can fly. Through the wall.”

“And I’ve told you, that’s not how this ghost thing works. Most of the effects are just optical illusions. If you spent half the time reading up on that as you did freaking out about this ghost stuff, you wouldn’t be fooled as often, and you wouldn’t be so scared.”

Kyle might be trying to help him.

Kyle might also be trying to egg him on.

Wes really suspected the latter, and he wasn’t in the mood for that vein of this argument again. He tried a different tack. “Fenton doesn’t feel the cold.”

“And you know how he feels how, exactly?”

“I’ve got eyes!”

“Coulda fooled me with some of the things you believe in.”

Wes grumbled something distinctly unflattering under his breath. “Seriously, even when it’s freezing out, he’s always in a T-shirt. If he bothers to put on a coat, it’s never done up.”

“And you don’t think he does that because he’s trying to look cool? Climb a single rung higher on the social ladder so he’s no longer Dash’s favourite punching bag? I mean, it’s not working, but you can’t fault the kid for trying.”

Kyle didn’t get it, but he wasn’t the only one. As far as Wes could tell, no one found it weird that Fenton didn’t dress for the winter weather. And, yeah, sure, some people took the cold better than others, and some people were happiest at something that was distinctly cooler than the generally accepted room temperature, but this was different.

Fenton thrived in the cold, and when it was warmer than his favourite temperature, he _made it cooler_. After the few incidents when he’d been near Fenton in class, Wes had started tracking it, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. It was always cool around Fenton, even in the heat of summer. Assuming anyone else acknowledged it, they’d blame the air conditioning or a sudden gust of nonexistent wind, as if that made any sense at all.

That permanent cold spot might be why no one seemed to think it weird that Fenton wasn’t ever warm to the touch, either. Not that Wes could bring that up without a lot of teasing for all the wrong reasons, but every time Wes had brushed by him, Fenton had been cold. Cold enough to give Wes goosebumps—though, to be fair, that might not have been from the cold. It wasn’t the same sort of cold as sticking your bare hand into a snowbank or dangling your feet into the cool waters of a lake in the dead of summer; it reminded Wes entirely too much of the cool, dead flesh of the fetal pigs they’d dissected in biology class (to replace the freed frogs, a substitute with which Manson had been vocally unhappy).

And, okay, maybe Wes had initially made that association because he was convinced Danny was dead, but he couldn’t unsee it. Or unfeel it. Even just the memory of it had him shuddering.

“Dude, if talking about the cold makes you feel cold, then that’s your problem.”

“I’m not cold.”

Kyle just raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at the bumps that had formed on Wes’s arms despite the spring sun shining overhead.

“That’s not—! I’m not cold.” Wes scowled. Truth was, he was a _little_ chilly—the sun wasn’t as warm as it would be later on in the year—but that wasn’t the point. Any chill he felt had nothing to do with the temperature. “Fenton just gives me the creeps.”

“He’s a nice kid. Give him a chance. Or, like, actually ask him how he does all his special effects since you won’t believe me when I explain it to you. Who knows? Maybe you guys can be friends. Instead of, y’know, you considering him some kind of mortal enemy and him barely remembering your name.”

“I don’t consider him my mortal enemy!”

“You sure about that?”

Wes’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated his options. On one hand, he knew protesting wouldn’t do him any good. He’d tried. It never did any good. Kyle wouldn’t listen to him. Well, more accurately, Kye wouldn’t believe him despite listening to him. That was almost more annoying, since Wes couldn’t pretend Kyle didn’t even care. Kyle did care. He tried to help.

And he was hopelessly wrong about Fenton, and Wes couldn’t make him _see_ that.

On the other hand, offering up more evidence never seemed to help, either. Wes let out a slow breath and decided to try to be diplomatic. Again. What was the definition of insanity, trying the same thing and expecting a different result? Maybe he was insane, but not for the reason everyone in this town seemed to think. “Look. My personal feelings about Fenton aside, you have to admit that there’s something weird about him, even if you don’t think it’s a ghost thing.”

“Weird is one thing. Weirder than you is another.”

Wes reminded himself that attempting to strangle his brother would not be a good thing to do, especially in Amity Park.

“I’m serious. You forget about last night already? When we were driving home from the Nasty Burger? Those eyes we saw flash in the headlights?”

“You mean the deer we saw by the park?”

“That wasn’t a deer.”

“I mean, that flash of green eyes? Kinda screams deer. I mean, you were screaming that it was Fenton, but it was totally a deer.”

“That was not a deer. I _saw_ it. Him. Fenton.”

“Yeah, I was there. I heard you screaming. Just because Fenton happened to be near the deer—”

“There wasn’t any deer!”

“Loads of animals get into that park. Loads of those fake ghost animals, too. If you really did see Fenton, he was probably setting something up for today. Which is what I told you last night, after you deafened me. Were your ears ringing too much from your screaming to hear me?”

Wes just looked at his brother, trusting his exasperation to come through in his expression.

“What? Didn’t hear of any so-called ghost sighting at the park today? Want me to check the news?”

Wes didn’t need to check the news. Fenton hadn’t been stuck in detention with Lancer when Wes had walked past the English classroom at the end of the day, and he hadn’t been with Manson and Foley, either. That meant there were ghosts out and about, Phantom included, and the park wasn’t an uncommon place for sightings.

“Don’t bother.”

“Gonna admit it was just a deer?”

“I saw Fenton!”

“Setting up the ghost deer with the glowy eyes.”

Wes frowned but kept walking, not looking at Kyle as he said, “You didn’t see Fenton?”

“Nope.”

“You ever notice how he sometimes just appears?” That was a risky assertion, even with Kyle. While any of the A-listers or even semi-popular kids in school would just write it off as ‘not noticing the loser’s approach’, Wes knew it was so much more than that. Kyle, however? Kyle would not.

“You wanna pretend his mad ninja skills when it comes to sneaking up on people are a bad thing now?”

That was the thing with Kyle. Kyle would acknowledge something, just not fully. He’d only see the normal side of it, not the definitely-not-human side of it. “You know what I mean.”

It wasn’t always that Fenton was literally appearing out of nowhere, though Wes had seen him do that, too. It was how quickly he reappeared from, say, the locker he’d been locked inside—not just stuffed inside. It was how slowly he ran in gym class compared to how quickly he’d vanish the moment there was even a _hint_ of a ghost around. (Whatever he pretended, he was not terrified of ghosts and hiding somewhere.) Besides, no one should be able to walk that quietly over fallen autumn leaves. It just wasn’t _natural_ , which was Wes’s (entirely ignored) point.

“Then if you mean his ninja skills, yeah.”

“That’s not normal.”

“Are you kidding me? He’s got an older sister.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I can sneak up on you, too. It’s a sibling thing. Just because you suck at stealth, doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

“I do not—!”

“Dude, you walk heavy, and I have good ears. Just accept the fact that you’re not gonna catch me off guard.”

Wes muttered his protests. Kyle punched him in the arm, even though Wes wasn’t sure if he’d been able to make out the precise words or had just reacted to their tone. It was an unfortunately normal exchange. Kyle wouldn’t see Fenton’s appearing or disappearing acts as evidence, and he wouldn’t blink at Fenton’s reflexes, either. Fenton had gotten better on that front, and Wes was pretty much convinced Fenton was only hit in dodgeball when he wanted to be at this point.

Regrettably, Wes had entirely too much confidence in Kyle’s ability to write off Fenton’s so-called party trick as just that, too, even though it should be solid evidence for Wes’s case.

Fenton’s only redeeming quality in the eyes of the popular kids was that he could hold his breath for a long time. It had been discovered during one of Dash’s more questionable bouts of bullying last spring, in their junior year, but it had earned Fenton some grudging respect. He hammed it up instead of brushing it off, and no one questioned the fact that he could hold his breath for five minutes, despite how _insane_ that was, especially for kids their age with zero training.

No one seemed to notice the fact that Fenton never took a giant gulp of air before doing that, either.

No one realized that he simply _didn’t need to breathe_ , at least not as often as a normal human if he did.

There was just…. It wasn’t normal. _None_ of it was normal. It drove Wes nuts, and no one else seemed to see any of it.

Wes mentioned it anyway. “What about the fact that he can hold his breath forever?” The rather frightening truth was that Wes wasn’t even sure that had been a hyperbole. “He’s not some pearl diver or something. He hasn’t had training.”

“You have no idea what he’s done when he’s home alone and bored.”

“C’mon. I’m serious. I dunno if most people even last a minute, and he can go _five_? Maybe longer? That’s not normal.”

“You know you sound like a broken record, right?”

“But it _isn’t_. You already know he’s Phantom; why can’t you accept that?”

“Wes. I know it’s hard, man, but you’ve just gotta accept that Danny’s as human as the rest of us.”

Human.

Right.

Wes wasn’t sure what he could say to argue that. If he told Kyle that Fenton invariably turned to look at him whenever Wes was watching him, Kyle would just snort and say that _anyone_ would do that, as that’s what people do when they feel someone watching them, especially when that someone is as obvious about it as Wes. If he pointed out that Fenton’s eyes invariably found him without hesitation every time, Kyle would shrug and say that some people have good eyes. Besides which, since Wes had a habit of staring, Danny would just know to look for him.

Wes chewed his lip, trying to think of something Kyle would believe, but he could imagine Kyle’s counter to every argument. Echoey voice? Imagination—or acoustics, depending on where it happened. Slight glow, either of his eyes or over his entire body? Trick of the light. Crazily good reflexes when Fenton wasn’t trying to be normal? Luck, with a sprinkling of natural talent. Ability to get out of tight spots quickly? Skill, coming from practice born of necessity. Impeccable ghost knowledge? His parents. Always disappearing during a ghost fight? Self-preservation; for all they knew, he was a target because of his parents and the whole hunting ghosts gig. Occasional mumbling in a different language? Dude, even assuming it wasn’t English or any other actual language, sometimes people just talk nonsense or make up their own thing. That doesn’t make Danny not human. Not by normal people’s standards.

“What’s humanity to you, anyway?” Wes finally asked. “If everything I’ve seen doesn’t make you think Fenton’s not human, what would it take to convince you?”

Kyle snorted. “C’mon, bro, it’s not like he’s an alien in disguise. Pretty much everyone in this town remembers growing up with him. Ask any of them, and Danny was around long before Phantom ever started showing up. His parents just waited until he was old enough to play the role since his sister wouldn’t do it. Or maybe they just got desperate. Being a good actor doesn’t make him inhuman.”

In Wes’s mind, he had a mountain of evidence that Fenton wasn’t human, but as far as Kyle (and anyone else) was concerned, absolutely none of it was substantiated.

“You can’t keep basing stuff on the vibe you get off him.”

Humans couldn’t reach through solid objects.

“It skews your judgement.”

Human bodies couldn’t generate cold.

“You’ve gotta look at this scientifically.”

The most light humans could throw off from their own body was a spark thanks to static electricity; it wasn’t anything that could be weaponized beyond a quick prank.

“Danny’s grades might not show it, but he’s good at science, and his parents have taught him a lot.”

His parents had created a monster.

“He’s not a ghost. He’s an actor. And, who knows? If they ever miscalculated and something went wrong with the stunts, and someone who wasn’t in on it wandered into the scene, he might have actually saved someone and been the hero that everyone thinks.”

He wasn’t a hero. He was an abomination.

“And, like, if you actually look at anything you’ve ever told me— It can all be explained by that. This stuff is staged. Sure, things get damaged, but with the tourism that comes in for the whole ghost schtick? It’s gotta pay for it or they wouldn’t be allowed to keep at it.”

“The entire world’s a stage, huh?” A stage that suited Fenton perfectly. No one would look for the truth if they were convinced they already knew it—either that ghosts weren’t real or that the ghosts couldn’t hide as humans.

No one except for him, since he’d seen too much to have the wool pulled over his eyes like everyone else.

“Exactly!”

“Which is why you don’t believe anything I show you even when I have pictures or video. Actual, solid evidence for what I’m telling you.”

Kyle stopped and looked over at Wes with a raised eyebrow. “Really? That again? What part of _optical illusion_ and _sleight of hand_ still escapes you? I mean, do you believe in magic now? You think that every magician who puts on a show is secretly a sorcerer in disguise hiding their nefarious plan by trying to make enough money to eat and pay their rent?”

Wes pointedly kept his eyes forward and kept walking instead of answering.

Kyle jogged a few steps to catch up, easily sliding back into Wes’s peripheral vision. “Look, you don’t have to like Danny. You don’t even have to have a good reason for not liking him as long as you don’t do stupid stuff because of that. But this ghost thing is getting old. How long are you going to beat a dead horse?”

“Until I’m not the only person who acknowledges that he’s dead,” Wes muttered. Kyle huffed, meaning he’d heard that, but he let it drop. No sense in getting into a yelling match before they got home and had to spend the rest of the evening pretending to be a perfectly civil family with no crazy conspiracy theories on either end of the spectrum. Not that Wes wanted this to end in shouting, but it would almost be preferable to this. Almost.

He just wanted someone to believe him.

If he couldn’t even convince Kyle, how could he hope to convince anyone else?

This really wasn’t the day for it. Wes knew that. Tonight was important to his dad. He’d be lying if he said he was looking forward to tonight’s dinner with his dad’s boss, though. Schmoozing wasn’t his thing. Neither were all the chores that invariably led up to that torture.

Of course, when suppertime rolled around and the doorbell rang, Wes was suddenly faced with a much worse torture than he’d expected.

He’d been halfway down the stairs when his dad had answered the door and invited Vlad Masters into their house, and it was halfway down the stairs he stayed.

Wes had never met Amity Park’s mayor in person. He’d seen him on TV—everyone had—and he knew Vlad was also the CEO of the company his dad worked for, but he’d never…. He hadn’t….

“What a nice home you have,” Vlad commented as he looked around. His eyes only lingered a second too long on Wes, but it was enough.

Whatever reason Vlad Masters had given for coming here, Wes had a horrible feeling that it was really because of him. To put him in his place. To threaten him, even if he never whispered a word of that threat aloud. To let Wes know in no uncertain terms that Vlad knew exactly what he was up to and wouldn’t stand for it without doling out some very serious consequences.

Wes had never put the pieces together before, but they clicked into place now.

He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t move.

He thought he might be sick, that the horror in his stomach might come spilling out all over the stairs, but it was stopped by the same lump in his throat that kept him from breathing.

Vlad Masters gave him _exactly_ the same feeling as Danny Fenton did.

Wes had always wondered if there might be others, and now he knew the truth.

There were.

And they had power—power enough to destroy little guys like Wes who thought about speaking up.

If he breathed even a word of this to Kyle, it might still get back to Vlad. There was no telling how many spies he had, how many invisible eyes and ears. Any accusation Wes made would be paid for dearly, and his father….

Losing his job wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Wes was well aware of that. It might even be the best thing that could happen if Vlad decided to move against him, to retaliate for anything he’d ever said against Fenton or to have added insurance that Wes wouldn’t say anything against him.

Wes wasn’t sure if Fenton was in cahoots with Vlad or if the mayor was merely protecting himself, but the circumstances were crystal clear. Vlad was done with Wes’s games. Wes had a mountain of insubstantial evidence, a firm conviction of what he knew to be true, and he couldn’t keep pushing for any of it without consequence. Not anymore.

People might get suspicious if he dropped everything immediately, but if he didn’t slack off over time….

“These are your boys?” Vlad was saying. “A pleasure to meet them. They seem like fine young lads.”

Vlad was looking at him as he said this, and Wes could fill in the blanks. _Shame if anything were to happen to them._

“Dude, c’mon,” Kyle hissed to him from the landing as their dad insisted he come down to greet Vlad properly. As if Wes had any desire to shake the hand of the monster that could destroy their family on a whim.

“I….” His knees were still locked. “I….” What excuse could he give to get out of this? He was already getting the look that said he’d be grounded later for being so rude. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbled, which wasn’t entirely a lie. Finally finding the strength to turn his back on the threat, he ran upstairs and locked himself in the bathroom. It was nothing more than an illusion of safety, but an illusion was all he had now.

It wasn’t enough to calm his thundering heart.

His family came in turns, trying to find out what was wrong or to coax him out, concerned or exasperated or pleading, but he stayed huddled beneath the window on the far wall until he heard them exchanging their goodbyes. He stood in time to look out the window and watch Vlad climb into his limo and be driven away. Wes didn’t let out the breath he was holding until the taillights of the car disappeared around the corner three blocks away.

Terror leached away and left exhaustion in its place, but Wes didn’t try to explain the truth to anyone.

Not even Kyle.


	5. The Unsettling Case of Danny Fenton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title courtesy of melondy-rose on tumblr.

Wes kept his head down for the rest of the school year. No accusations. No displays of evidence or painstaking attempts at gathering anything more concrete. No attempts to convince anyone of the truth, not even Kyle.

Kyle assumed Wes had taken his advice and let the unsettling case of Danny Fenton drop.

As far as Wes could tell, so did everyone else, Fenton included.

It was better that way, even if it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Wes still kept an eye on Fenton, but he kept everything he saw in his head. No more attempts to catch something on camera or otherwise get solid proof. That was too dangerous. He wasn’t willing to risk his family for this. He wanted to protect them, and getting them dragged into the crossfire because of his investigation wasn’t protecting them. It was far safer to scour the internet for job postings out-of-state and leave them where his dad could see them—along with a decent list of potential properties to rent or buy and some glowing reviews about the company and the city in general, naturally.

Vlad Masters might not have threatened him directly, but Wes remembered the chill he’d gotten when Vlad had looked at him.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid the mayor since, though it hadn’t taken much effort. When he’d heard about Vlad coming over for dinner again, the idea itself had made him sick to his stomach. He hadn’t had to fake anything. Lying in bed with an old ice cream pail in easy reach had been infinitely preferable to facing the eldritch horror of the creature smooth talking the rest of Wes’s family in the dining room.

Wes’s post-graduation plan was simple: get out of Dodge as quickly as humanly possible. Enough other kids had the itch to ditch the small town for the big city that it wouldn’t seem terribly out of place. He was headed to college on a basketball scholarship, and he’d live in the dorms, so he wouldn’t need to bring much with him. In the meantime, he’d get a summer job _far away_ from Amity Park on the pretence of earning some money towards paying for what his scholarship didn’t.

It wasn’t the solution he wanted.

He _wanted_ to tell every hunter in town. He’d start with the Fentons, since everyone knew where they lived, and then catch the Red Huntress after a ghost hunt. He’d give them all his evidence, even though Kyle had never believed a word of it, even though most of it was circumstantial. At least once they knew, they’d be warned, and if they didn’t believe him at first, they could look at the situation with fresh eyes, and then maybe they’d finally see it.

He wasn’t sure he could hope for anything better.

After all, the Fentons? It wasn’t a truth they’d want to see, and not just because it implied awful things about their parenting and observation skills. It would mean accepting that their son wasn’t human. That he wasn’t the boy they thought he was. That they might very well be the reason why. They hunted Phantom without knowing the truth, but Wes wasn’t sure if they’d have the courage to hunt him once they did. He didn’t know if they’d see their son or the monster he’d become, the monster who had replaced him.

He didn’t know if they’d want to acknowledge the danger they were in—the entire town was in—on more than one front, either.

Danny Fenton was Danny Phantom, and Vlad Masters…. Wes had no hard evidence of this, but he believed Vlad Masters was Vlad Plasmius. The so-called Wisconsin Ghost. Who very notably _no longer haunted Wisconsin_.

He’d spent enough time combing through reports of ghost sightings on the internet to know that. He’d spent enough time looking into more, ah, _low-tech_ ways of dealing with them, too, just to be subtle when it came to protecting himself and his family, but he had no idea if any of that stuff actually worked. Like, sure, this one group he’d found, the Ghostfacers— They had videos, but any footage Wes had seen _anywhere_ hadn’t ever shown him a ghost like Fenton. If Fenton even was a ghost. Wes honestly wasn’t sure anymore.

Maybe he should’ve held off accepting his scholarship until he’d actually heard back from one of the other universities in Alaska or Hawaii, even if they weren’t known for any of the programs he wanted to study. Or, heck, he should’ve given more thought to the out-of-country ones where he’d sent off applications. It would’ve cost far more to be an international student, but Wes already knew he’d be drowning in student loans, scholarship or no, when he didn’t have a full ride. He should have taken on more debt to be able to have that extra bit of distance between him and, well, the ghosts.

Then again, that additional financial burden would make his dad more reluctant to move than he already was, and Wes really wanted his family out of here.

Jumping state wouldn’t be enough to get out of Vlad’s influence, but it might make things harder. At least, it might make it just enough trouble that it wasn’t worth the bother. That _he_ wasn’t worth the bother. Wes could only hope.

“Dude, it’s our last day. Stop making that face. You’re supposed to be happy that we’re almost free. You’re the one who can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Please don’t say that here,” Wes mumbled. Who knew who or what was listening? Not him. Not when those ears could be invisible. Or in the brick walls of the school just ahead of them. Or the trees. Or—

“I’m just worried about you. You’ve been down for weeks. Months. What gives?”

“Nothing.”

“Bro.” Kyle caught his arm, forcing Wes to stop mere yards from the main doors of Casper High. “You don’t need to lie to me. You keep trying to dodge this conversation. I’ve noticed. I’m not stupid.”

What was Wes supposed to say? He already knew Kyle wouldn’t believe the truth. He’d tried to explain it before he’d ever realized exactly how dangerous it was. Before realizing what he’d gotten himself into. What he’d nearly gotten them all into.

Wes shrugged and mumbled, “I’m nervous is all.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. He _was_ nervous—just about Vlad Masters and Danny Fenton and what they might do to him and his family, not about leaving Amity Park. He wasn’t remotely nervous about that. He was nervous about what he was leaving behind.

Kyle studied him for several long seconds. “You know you can talk to me.”

“I know.”

Wes’s words weren’t convincing, and they both knew it.

“What’s really eating you?”

“Nothing! I’m fine!”

“Dude, c’mon.”

“I’m fine.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Are you still on about Danny and pretending you aren’t so I won’t bug you?”

Siblings were not supposed to be this intuitive. Okay, so they _were_ , but at more convenient times. This was distinctly not convenient. For either of them. “We’re gonna be late.” Wes jerked his head toward the doors and started walking.

Kyle didn’t follow. “Wes, seriously, I promise I won’t tease you. Too much. Just talk to me, okay?”

“Later,” Wes said. He meant _never_ , but saying _later_ would buy him a bit of time. If he was lucky, Kyle would forget about it. He probably wouldn’t, since it was Kyle, but _later_ didn’t have to mean _later today_. It could mean much later, once Wes had figured out what to do about Fenton, or Vlad, or anything, if he _could_ do something. He’d just….

Ignorance was bliss. Kyle was a great example of that. And Wes didn’t want to burst his bubble anymore, because in his case, ignorance also meant protection, not danger.

Or rather, it meant more protection than danger, at this precise time, and while Wes didn’t know when that was going to change, he was betting that it wasn’t going to change today.

Kyle opened his mouth to say something more, likely an argument Wes would have a harder time evading than a plea, but then the bell rang, and Wes had an excuse to run.

He couldn’t escape his thoughts as easily as he had his brother.

And, judging by the way Kyle managed to find him at lunch despite Wes’s best efforts not to be found, he wasn’t very good at escaping anything.

Wes was rehashing the consequences of what telling other people might mean for them, not to mention him, when there came a knock on the bathroom stall door. Specifically, the bathroom stall door he’d locked and was hiding behind. In the boy’s changeroom. It was as far from anywhere—any _one_ —as he’d been able to think of getting without leaving school grounds and needing to sign out.

_Shave and a haircut_ was rapped out again, and Wes reluctantly set his feet back on the floor as he sounded out two knocks of his own— _two bits_ —and unlocked the door. “How the heck did you find me?”

“You’re predictable,” Kyle said. “Like I said, I’m not stupid. And your phone is on. Can we at least go somewhere it doesn’t smell like stale sweat to talk?”

He wasn’t even bothering to ask if they could talk anymore. Wes got to his feet, making his reluctance known in every glare and dragged footstep. Still, he cut across the gym to the back door and followed Kyle around and under the football bleachers, stopping where Kyle deemed it a safe distance from anyone else. Wes frowned in the direction of some of the other students he could see, but Kyle just gave him a look in return and Wes knew that stubbornness coming out when he saw it.

“Thank you,” Kyle said, which was a sappier start to a conversation Wes knew he was going to hate than he would’ve expected. Really, though, he shouldn’t be surprised. Kyle had his moments. This was just one of those moments. “Because I…. You know I’m worried about you, right? You don’t have any friends.”

_Aaaaand_ there it was. The tiny barbs that might only be somewhat intentional but still served their purpose of getting under Wes’s skin. “Gee, thanks.” He should just walk away. He didn’t have time for this. This was his last day to _do_ something, if he could find the nerve to do anything, and—

“Not real ones,” insisted Kyle. “You’ve gotta admit that. I mean, you’ve got people you’ll hang out with sometimes, but you don’t have anyone you trust. And something’s eating you. I know it. So why don’t you want to talk to me, if you won’t trust whatever this is with someone else? You know I’ve got your back—”

“You don’t!” Wes snapped. “I’ve tried talking to you. You don’t believe me. You don’t believe any of this!” He’d feel bad for this later, but he was so frustrated and angry now that he just didn’t care. Fenton was a _ghost_ and his dad’s boss was the same thing and he hadn’t realized for _years_ and now they were onto him and— “I tell you what I’ve seen, and you dismiss me. I give you evidence, and you come up with some wild explanation for what you think is _rational_ and _logical_ as if any of that applies in this town! Open your bloody eyes, Kyle, and accept that ghosts are real and this town is haunted or accept that you really don’t care about _anything_ I say!”

“This isn’t just about ghosts. You’ve been on that for years. Something changed.”

“Yeah,” muttered Wes bitterly. “I realized they have more power than I thought.” Okay, maybe it was dangerous to admit that, but it had to be more dangerous for Kyle to keep _pushing_. He wasn’t leaving town in the next week. Wes was.

Kyle just raised his eyebrows.

At least it wasn’t an argument or some snide remark about how this was about Fenton after all.

Wes sighed. “I know you don’t believe me,” he repeated. “I know you think I’m crazy sometimes. I know you think Fenton is a normal kid. But just…. Even if you have to stay friendly with him, just keep your distance? For me? Don’t, like, go over to his house or anything?”

“He’s not some wicked witch who’s going to eat me. He’s just taking a gap year like me. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to get scholarships.”

Wes groaned and was about to snap out a retort when he realized that he could see around the corner of the school from this vantage point, just barely. A tree, the corner of a picnic table—

—and one pale face staring in their direction.

Wes didn’t need to be able to make out any details to know who it was. He cursed and grabbed Kyle to pull them both out of sight, even though he was pretty sure that wouldn’t do any good. Kyle just looked amused. He glanced back in the direction Wes had looked and must have figured out what Wes had seen; everyone knew that was the table where Fenton, Foley, and Manson sat.

“You really don’t think you’re taking this too far?”

“Kyle, he’s _dead_. Even if he’s not a ghost, he’s _something_.”

“What, zombie? Vampire? Who’s supposed to be the undead again?”

“No! Just…. I don’t even know.”

“So we’re back to human.”

“Not human! That’s the point.” And the problem. “Look, he’s not the only one.” Wes could only hope nothing was around to overhear him saying this. “You remember dad’s boss? I…. I think he’s one, too. A ghost, or a not-ghost, or whatever.”

“You should really make up our mind if you’re going to accuse—”

“Dammit, just _listen_ to me for once. You already know these guys can pass as human. I just…. That’s terrifying, okay? He’s walking around pretending to be a normal kid, and he’s _not_ , but people buy it because they can’t tell, but he knows I know, and—”

“Everyone knows what you think. That’s not news. Danny’s just being a good sport about it. Because he’s a nice kid. Not some kind of ghost monster creature thing or whatever you’ve convinced yourself.”

Kyle wasn’t going to listen.

No matter what Wes said, he wasn’t going to listen.

What kind of power did Fenton have that no one could _see_ it? Was Wes lucky to be immune or just extremely unfortunate? How the heck could he even begin to expose someone who seemed to have some kind of superpower that let him keep his secret? It’s not like Fenton was _subtle_ some days.

“But, if it cheers you up, I promise to never let him corner me alone in a dark room or anything like that. I’m not into that kind of thing.”

That might be the best he was going to get, and it made Wes’s stomach turn. They were in so much danger, and they didn’t even know. He wasn’t some crackpot doomsayer. This was _real_. And Fenton…Fenton….

“Maybe you should talk to him, bro. It might help you sleep at night. I’ll come with you.”

That was a terrible idea.

Wes told Kyle so.

Apparently, Kyle didn’t listen to that, either. He caught Wes at the end of the day before he had a chance to leave Casper High behind forever, and Wes didn’t realize he was stalling him before they were alone.

Well.

Almost alone.

Wes didn’t notice when Fenton materialized to lean against the opposite wall. He did become aware of Manson and Foley hovering in the background, snickering.

“Dude,” Kyle said when Wes shot him a betrayed look. “Trust me.” He walked off to talk to Manson and Foley, within sight but only within earshot if he were paying attention, and Wes knew he wouldn’t be.

“I heard you wanted to talk, Wes,” Fenton said. “What’s up?”

Wes wondered if running away would help when Fenton could easily catch up if he flew.

“I mean, I’m not blind. I know what’s up. But it’s common courtesy if you tell me.”

“What did Kyle say to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know. I mean, you’ve never really liked me. And there’s the low-key stalking. And, y’know, that face you make when you look at me, like the one you’re making now. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Neither are you.”

Fenton raised an eyebrow.

“C’mon, you have to own up to this,” Wes said, trying not to make it sound like the plea it was. Even to his own ears, it was painfully clear that he’d failed miserably. “You just…. You can’t pretend none of this….” He swallowed and latched onto the old rumour. It was safer until he knew how Fenton was going to react. “You can’t let everyone keep thinking _I’m_ Phantom when you’re, y’know.”

Fenton smiled. His teeth were a touch too long and just this side of too sharp. “Whaddaya mean?”

Instinct was telling Wes to get out of there, but he held his ground.

“You’re Phantom,” he said, remembering the last time he’d made this accusation to Fenton’s face. “I _know_ you’re Phantom. I’ve seen you change.”

_Danger_ , shouted his mind as it reminded him of all possible exits. _Run_ , thundered his heart, beating faster with each passing second. _Get away_ , screamed his muscles, tensed and ready to spring.

He was standing there waiting for an answer, gulping in lungfuls of air, before he realized the unnerving feeling had entirely disappeared.

Fenton was frowning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His teeth looked normal. His face, his demeanour…. It all seemed perfectly normal.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Wes hissed. “The…the glowing eyes, the freaky stuff you do, _everything_!”

Fenton blinked slowly, giving what must be the most incredulous look he could muster.

“Stop doing that! You know what I mean!”

“Phantom’s dead, Wes,” Fenton said. He glanced over at Kyle. “He was dead long before you guys ever moved here. No one seriously thinks you’re him.”

“So you admit you’re dead, then? Because you’re Phantom?” Fenton had never said as much when Wes had pushed before, but if Wes could just catch him, especially with Kyle close by—

Fenton laughed. “Phantom’s a ghost,” he said. “Ghosts are dead. I do not need to have grown up with the parents I did to know that. Do I look dead to you?”

It was almost exactly like what he’d said last time, but Wes wasn’t sure if it was a deliberate callback or if he’d already forgotten that.

“Stop playing games! You _know_ what you are. What you _both_ are.”

Fenton stilled, and Wes was incredibly aware that he’d just made a mistake. He’d called Fenton dangerous, but up to this point, Fenton had just been toying with him. Right now? It looked like he was tensed and ready to strike.

The desire to run flooded back, but Wes’s feet wouldn’t move.

“Both?”

The question was a low whisper that spread ice down Wes’s spine.

Fenton was not surprised. He was…. Not angry, exactly, nor frightened, more…. Cornered, and more dangerous for it. Deadly. Completely unafraid of using his power. He straightened, turning slightly away from his friends and Kyle, and fixed bright green eyes on Wes. “Who are you talking about?”

Wes’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. In the stretching silence, he heard a cell phone go off—Kyle’s, by the ringtone—and he managed to break Fenton’s paralyzing gaze in time to see his brother walking away to answer it, unwittingly leaving him behind to face whatever came next. Kyle disappeared around the corner. Wes felt his chest constrict as he wondered wildly if he was going to get the chance to see him again, get the chance to properly apologize—

“ _Answer me_.”

Wes licked dry lips, met Danny’s unnerving gaze again, and managed to force out, “Vlad Masters.”

Fenton snorted, the green glow in his eyes vanishing to leave behind ordinary blue in a blink. Wes found that he could breathe again. “The mayor? Don’t worry about him.”

It wasn’t exactly a denial.

“I mean, I guess he’s not harmless, but he is a fruitloop who has better things to worry about than you.”

“If I keep my mouth shut, you mean?”

Fenton smirked. “Especially if you keep your mouth shut.”

Wes took a slow breath. “Is that a promise?” It was a thin offer of protection that Wes hadn’t expected, but—

“What, you think I have some kind of influence over the mayor?”

Judging by the number of times he’d seen Phantom square off with Plasmius and give as good as he took? Yeah, Wes _did_ think Fenton had some influence—especially since Phantom’s bouts with Plasmius weren’t as frequent now as they’d once been. Admittedly, none of the ghost sightings were as frequent as they’d once been, but everyone (not only Wes) assumed that was due to Phantom’s influence.

Knowing that invading ghosts respected Phantom’s power enough to back off hadn’t been as comforting to Wes as it was to others.

“Okay, look,” Fenton said, pulling Wes’s attention back to the present, “it’s been a fun run, but can we put this behind us now? I mean, you’re leaving Amity Park. I’m staying here to help my parents with their stuff, at least for a while. Obviously, I have no intention of hurting you, whatever you might think, and you haven’t really tried with me, so we’re good, right?”

When Wes didn’t answer, Fenton added, “What, you don’t think I want to kill you or something because you think I’m Phantom, right? Right?” Fenton stared at him. “Seriously? Is that why you just started avoiding me? Because you thought I wanted you dead or something? Geez, I’m surprised you didn’t try to return the favour.”

“You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”

Fenton rolled his eyes. “You know what? Fine. Suit yourself. I can’t make you not believe your own crazy conspiracy theory, but if it makes you feel better, I promise I’m not here to ruin your life or attack your family or do any other horrific thing you might be thinking. I’m just trying to do my own thing like everyone else. So, have a good rest of your life.”

_Don’t be surprised if I haunt you._ Wes was waiting for him to say it, to complete the echo of the conversation they’d had years before, but he didn’t. He simply turned and started to walk towards his friends, his soft footsteps on the linoleum sounding loud to Wes’s ears.

“Hey, wait, I’m not done!” Wes yelled, finding his voice and his feet at the same time. He sprinted after Fenton, easily catching up to him, and reached to grab his arm.

Wes watched his fingers pass right through Fenton’s arm and backpack as Fenton reached Manson and Foley. Wes stared at his hand for a split second and then looked up to confront them with this obvious bit of proof, but the hallway was empty.

He couldn’t hear any footsteps leading away, nor any muffled laughter at his expense.

He _could_ hear some coming towards him, and he tensed, surprised Fenton would return so soon—

—and then Kyle walked back around the corner. “Hey, that was Dad. He’s working late tonight so we get to grab something from the Nasty Burger for supper.” He glanced around. “You straighten things out with Danny? You guys good now?” He seemed to take Wes’s silence for the affirmative, maybe because Wes had always been so vocal about the negative before, and started to ramble on about the grad parties and everything else. Wes stopped paying attention.

Kyle made it very clear that Wes couldn’t win this. No one else was going to look at Fenton and see what Wes saw. Wes wasn’t going to be able to change that.

Aside from Kyle, Wes stood in the hallway entirely by himself. Fenton, Foley, and Manson were gone. Their disappearance had been fast and thorough, and Kyle didn’t think it was weird that he hadn’t seen or heard them go. If the past was anything to go by, he wouldn’t necessarily believe Wes when he insisted they hadn’t gone past him, either, not when those two directions had been the only obvious choices.

Not that the obvious choices mattered to a ghost—or whatever Fenton was—when he could go through walls and bring his friends with him.

In the end, despite how close Wes had been to getting some solid evidence, to convincing Kyle of the truth, he was left with exactly as much concrete proof of the truth as he’d ever had.

Nothing.


End file.
